For Your Entertainment
by Don't Diss Einstein
Summary: It's eighth year after the war and there's a party at the Three Broomsticks. Looking around, most of Harry's friends seem to be doing pretty well when it comes to love and getting lucky, but he thinks he's too famous to get away with that sort of thing. Or is he? Oneshot. HPDM. SLASH. MATURE CONTENT LIES HEREIN. Reviews are loved and appreciated!


For Your Entertainment

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_All characters and the Wizarding world belong to the inimitable J. K. Rowling, not me; the song that inspired this fic (see title) belongs to Adam Lambert. Please leave a review if you enjoyed reading!_

**_Warning_**_: CONTAINS MATURE ADULT CONTENT._

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The moment Harry walked in, his senses were overwhelmed. The basement of the Three Broomsticks was large, dimly lit, and _loud_, the lights swirling along with the pumping of the music and masses of mindless bodies jumping and sweating along with the sound. His brain was buzzing in his ears – though maybe that was just the sheer amount of _noise_ – leaving no room for rational thought. The only fragments that managed to squeeze their way through Harry's head were _loud _and _crazy_ and _holy hell what a party_.

Pushing his way through the crowds, the Boy Who Lived felt blissful anonymity settle over him much like his invisibility cloak. Nobody paid him the slightest attention. Grateful for the darkness and the mind-pounding music that seemed to have brainwashed all of the party's participants, he scanned the faces in the crowd. He recognised a lot of his fellow Hogwarts students in the midst of it – look, there was Ginny, and Colin, and Luna, and further on it looked like Parvati was making out with that brown-haired boy from Hufflepuff whose name Harry could never quite remember.

He started and turned around as a dark-skinned young man was knocked into him by another, fair-skinned man. The pale one wasted no time in locking his arms around the darker one's neck and firmly fastening their mouths together; far from seeming surprised, the darker one pulled the other boy closer and began pawing at his arse.

Caught between the happy couple and three gyrating Ravenclaw fifth-years, Harry barely had room to breathe, but as close as he was to his fellow Hogwarts students, they didn't spare him so much as a second glance. He liked the feeling of not being noticed for once. Starting to feel mildly claustrophobic, he ducked out under one girl's arm, glancing back at the two snogging boys and shrugging to himself. All those years he'd shared a dormitory with Dean and Seamus, and he'd never cottoned onto the fact that they were that way inclined.

He had by now come to terms with his own sexual orientation, but had never really gotten around to telling anyone. He'd come close to telling Hermione and Ron once or twice, but the whole Horcruxes thing had kind of gotten in the way and then it didn't really seem relevant. Who cared that he was bisexual if he was only going to die trying to defeat Voldemort anyway? And then after the war there had been too much raw emotion to think about it; even when most of the remaining kids in Harry's year had returned to Hogwarts as 'eighth-years' he hadn't bothered to muster up the will to come out to his friends. He supposed there must be a few people who knew; that bloke in Torquay he'd snogged (and possibly felt up) in that bar, for one, and that guy from the club in Cardiff who'd bought him drinks and given him that blowjob, for another. But they didn't know who he was; they didn't know his name.

Harry shook off his heavy thoughts, determination settling over his features. He was here to enjoy himself, damn it! All he wanted was to take part in the festivities, have a Butterbeer and get lost in the music, the same as everyone else.

...

An hour later Harry's world was spinning. All that existed was the crowd and the pounding bass, making his whole body vibrate and his heart beat in time. He'd left his fourth – or maybe fifth? – bottle of Butterbeer on a table somewhere, deciding he didn't need the complication of a smashable object in his hand while he danced.

Around him the party was one pulsating organism, surging and swelling all around. Somehow, the people no longer seemed to be separate entities. One body was almost indistinguishable from the next, and most didn't pay the least bit of mind to the others around them. The only ones that did were the couples snogging fiercely all over the room – against the walls, by the bar, or on the dance floor, in danger of being swept away by the mindless crowd.

To Harry's left, a thin blonde girl whose name Harry didn't know had her legs wrapped around a burly Slytherin, possibly Marcus Flint, though it was difficult to tell as most of his face was obscured beneath his assailant's enthusiastic attack. Holding the girl up by a firm grip on her arse, he ploughed solidly through the crowd and disappeared from sight, most likely in search of a more private place to carry on in.

To Harry's other side, a tall brunette Ravenclaw was grinding against someone else, her brunette curls whipping around her and her companion's face. The girl's companion chose that moment to grab her by the collar and pull her forward for a deep kiss. Through the baseline blasting through his being, Harry noted dimly that Luna had always been one for surprises. He watched her run her fingers almost reverently though her companion's locks and smiled for them when the brunette reciprocated, pulling Luna closer.

He looked away as he was pushed forward by the throng, closer to the speakers near the front. Spying yet another couple – this time two boys, Zacharias Smith and Blaise Zabini, engaged in fevered groping against the wall – Harry felt a rising sense of… was it envy? If those boys – and, it seemed, practically everyone else – could get some action, why shouldn't he?

_Because you're Harry Potter_, a voice inside him whispered glumly, _and you're too famous to get away with that kind of thing_.

At that moment he felt a pressure against his back, and half-turned to find a pair of hands grasping his hips and someone leaning their torso against his shoulder blades. Their breath huffed against the back of his neck and he couldn't help but shudder lightly. And suddenly it didn't really matter who he was anymore. He was just another unrecognisable body in the mob, after all. There was only the music, the beat, and no small amount of desire.

_Oh, fuck it_, he thought. _Time to pick up the pace._

He leant into the contact, sliding his own hands back and up to his – tall – companion's neck. Feeling the muscle corded there, he realised it had to be a man who was accosting him. The realisation was confirmed by the distinct lack of breasts against his back and those sure, hard, warm hands sliding beneath his shirt to caress his stomach. Harry leant back further, reaching up to slip his fingers into the man's hairline and gently running his nails over his scalp. The man groaned – judging by the renewed huff of warm air on Harry's neck, anyway; it was impossible to hear anything over the music – and dropped his head to Harry's shoulder, simultaneously tugging on his hipbones to bring their bodies together.

Harry just had time to register a recognisably hard bulge pressing into his left arse cheek before the man sunk his teeth into Harry's neck and his world went momentarily white. Damn, but who knew that would feel good? Harry gasped and tightened his grip on the man's hair as he continued to ravish Harry's neck, alternating between teasing nibbles and almost savage bites. Digging his nails into the man's scalp, Harry found himself alternately groaning and whimpering out loud – grateful again for the loudness of the music – and arched his back in pleasure, pushing back against his unknown companion.

He was almost too busy gasping for air to notice when his companion shifted a hand from his stomach to the front of his pants – and then the hand _squeezed_ and he very much _did_ notice. Breathless, Harry pushed his hips forward into the other man's hand, allowing him to cup and squeeze the bulge there. He bit back a groan when the hand disappeared, only to gasp as his companion spun him around, holding him firmly by the hips and looking straight into his face.

The young man facing Harry was tall, lean, and blonde, with a somewhat pointed face and very familiar grey eyes...

"Malfoy?" Harry mouthed in surprise.

Malfoy growled something that might have been "Potter," before pulling Harry forward and kissing him soundly on the mouth.

Harry's shock and bewilderment at being kissed by his old nemesis was quickly overshadowed by the fact that the Slytherin was practically making love to his face. His lips weren't gentle, but they were soft and sexy and his teeth were nipping at Harry's lower lip – and Harry found himself caring less and less about the past every second.

Some small part of his mind not overwhelmed by the snogging wasn't sure what to make of the fact that Draco Malfoy apparently wanted to kiss him. Harry hadn't really spared much thought for the Slytherin lately, but now that he _was _thinking about him, he found that he didn't consider him with anywhere near as much animosity as might be expected. And he didn't think that was entirely because of the way Malfoy was running his hands over his skin, either. He could only assume that Malfoy's previously intense hate for him had faded too, what with the way his hands strayed beneath Harry's shirt and over his back...

Further thought of any kind was cut off by the application of Malfoy's mouth to Harry's collarbone, where he bit down and then _sucked _– and it sort of hurt but definitely didn't at the same time. If he'd been able, Harry would have wondered how Malfoy knew that there was something in his neck directly attached to his cock. Gasping and scrabbling for purchase, Harry tried to hold on to Malfoy's muscled back as he felt himself being guided through the crowded room, pulled inexorably along by those lean hands under his shirt and somehow not minding at all.

By the time Harry was able to focus again he was being pressed against the inside of a door in a small but mercifully deserted room. His ragged breathing was harsh and loud in the relative quiet, though the pounding of the beat from the dancefloor was still faintly audible. It seemed very far away. Malfoy's hands were making some very distracting motions over Harry's arse, lingering over the back of his jeans in a way that promised more, more than Harry had ever considered outside of dreams before.

In return Harry let his own hand travel to the front of Malfoy's trousers – expensive suit bottoms, of course – and squeeze the (very) firm shape there. Harry was rewarded with a huff and a groan, and the realisation that he wasn't the only one breathing heavily. Malfoy caught his lips in a breathless kiss again and started to manoeuvre them across the room.

Suddenly Harry felt panic catch in his chest and he was falling backwards – until his shoulders hit something soft and he was sprawled on his back with Malfoy standing over him. He hadn't realised there was a creaky single bed against the wall. A wardrobe loomed in his peripheral vision and Harry berated himself for not taking better notice of his surroundings. A different kind of panic was bubbling up inside him now.

He wet his lips and asked somewhat hoarsely, "What are we doing here?"

Harry's legs had spread wide when he'd toppled onto the bed, leaving Malfoy standing between them. He leaned forward then, with his hands either side of Harry's torso. Their breath mingled in the air between them. The room felt suddenly cold.

But the blonde smiled, and his eyes were warm. "You're horny, I'm horny, it's not complicated." Harry swallowed, and Malfoy went on. "Don't make it complicated. You seemed willing enough before."

"How do I know you're not going to... ah..." Malfoy shifted downwards all of a sudden, his pointed nose hovering over the front of Harry's jeans.

"Catch you with your pants down, so to speak?" The Slytherin smiled up at Harry through his fringe of blonde hair and very carefully took Harry's zipper between his teeth, inching it down smoothly. The sound of the zip was loud and Harry's breath hitched. "Hexing you would be against my best interests."

Harry swallowed again. "I've not really done this before, you know."

Malfoy's smile was just a notch below predatory as he undid the button on Harry's jeans with a practiced flick. "Then let me entertain you." His breath ghosted over Harry's now-exposed boxers, a proud Gryffindor red, Harry's cock straining up against the material.

"Wait!" Harry half sat up. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Almost as though he'd expected the remark, Malfoy deftly slipped his wand out of his sleeve and flung it carelessly across the room in the direction of the door.

"Okay?" he asked, and he seemed sincere.

Feeling safer than he ever would have thought possible in this situation, Harry nodded. "Yeah. Okay." And then he gasped and _okay _was a massive understatement as Malfoy pulled his underwear out of the way and took Harry's cock in his mouth in a single smooth motion. His hands found themselves in Malfoy's hair again and then all Harry could do was gasp over and over as that perfect blonde head bobbed up and down over his crotch, obscuring Harry's own dark curls from view. Malfoy's mouth was warm and sure and wet and Harry wasn't sure if he was saying it out loud but _oh my fucking god, oh, oh, like that_.He became a breathless mess in a matter of seconds.

Then all too soon Malfoy's mouth disappeared and Harry opened his eyes to see him standing up, swiftly removing his tie and undoing the buttons of his neat white dress shirt. Taking the hint, Harry simply pulled his own over his head before toeing his shoes off and tugging at his jeans. Desire pooled in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what might be about to happen.

He was about to divest himself of his boxers as well when Malfoy caught his wrist. "Stop. Let me."

As Harry watched, Malfoy let his trousers slide to the floor, baring faintly green silk underwear that didn't do much to disguise the bulge underneath. A neat line of dark golden hair pointed straight to it. Then he hooked his thumbs under the elastic and stepped out of his underwear, Harry watching with wide eyes.

"Like what you see, Potter?"

The only truthful answer was yes. Malfoy might be thin, but Harry could see the strength in the muscles under that ivory skin. His cock was equally beautiful, slightly curved, resting full and heavy against his thigh.

Slowly, almost reverently, Malfoy slid Harry's underwear off. A bead of pre-come dripped slowly from the tip of his cock and Harry felt his ears redden. Malfoy was smiling. Suddenly it all seemed incredibly foolish, letting Malfoy of all people be in this situation with him. He started to get up but Malfoy put a lean hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

"I can see you blushing, Potter. But there's no escaping just because you're embarrassed. Not when I'm just about to turn up the heat." He took Harry's length in his mouth again, until his nose was deep in the ebony curls at the base. Harry spluttered and let out something that might have been a sigh, or a groan. All desire to leave evaporated as quickly as it had come.

Malfoy seemed to have no intentions of keeping that up, however, resurfacing almost straight away and asking conversationally, "Ever been rimmed, Potter?" His nose drifted towards Harry's balls as he said it.

Harry's eyes widened and his cock gave a hopeful twitch. "No?" It came out sounding like a question.

"Hold on tight," was the only warning Malfoy gave before he pushed Harry's legs up and his cheeks apart and set to work.

Harry wanted to say something about how Malfoy seemed awfully full of himself, about how some things never change, but his brain had completely short-circuited. At the first small, almost tentative touches of Malfoy's tongue something fizzled out in his brain and then all he could manage was a series of _oh_, _oh_, _oh _that started out sounding surprised but quickly degenerated into quiet, needy moaning. Then Malfoy widened out his tongue and licked a line from arse to his balls, earning a gasp and another drop of pre-come leaking onto Harry's abdomen. And then he was going deeper, pushing his tongue inside, millimetre by hot, aching millimetre, and Harry could only arch his back and hang onto the bed for dear life, his hands fisted in the covers, his chest heaving.

_Holyfuckingshit_, but Malfoy knew what he was doing. Harry found himself helplessly pushing towards Malfoy's thrusting, twisting tongue, trying to get that little bit deeper, wordlessly asking for more. Suddenly Harry understood the term "tongue-fucking".

He couldn't stop himself from making an embarrassingly high-pitched noise of disappointment when Malfoy pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry's eyes were drawn to the blonde's neglected cock, glistening with pre-come. Suddenly bold, he reached out to wrap his hand around it. It was solid and warm in his hand, almost exactly the same size as his own, perhaps just a shade slimmer. He gave an experimental squeeze and Malfoy hissed, pushing Harry further onto the bed and climbing up to suck sharply on his neck again. It was not lost on Harry that their cocks were pressed together in this position.

Pulling away from Harry's neck, Malfoy's eyes were deep and dark. "Can you conjure lube?" he asked.

Harry nodded and gestured to the pile of clothes on the floor. Malfoy sat up, allowing Harry to reach to the floor and extract his wand from his jeans. It took him three attempts to get the spell right, but in all fairness he was being distracted by a certain blonde Slytherin nibbling at his neck.

Harry set his wand on the bedside table as Malfoy took the newly conjured bottle of lubricant. He traced Harry's lips with his own and breathed against Harry's mouth, "One more question. Do you trust me?"

Harry considered it for a second and oddly enough, found that the answer was yes. He did trust Malfoy. And if it turned out that this was all part of an elaborate plan to kill him after all, he'd probably send a thank-you card to whoever came up with it. He nodded.

Malfoy kissed him, hard, just long enough for Harry to get thoroughly distracted by the sensation of Malfoy's teeth biting his lip and the way their naked cocks slid together. Suddenly the blonde broke away to search for something on the floor, and a moment later Harry was being tied by his wrists to the headboard with a Slytherin-green-and-silver tie, Malfoy's hands moving deftly to tie a couple of expert knots in next to no time at all.

"You've done this before," Harry remarked breathlessly. His pulse was racing.

"Maybe, but not as many times as you probably think. I'm a quick learner."

Harry had no time to think about the implications of that last statement because then Malfoy was pressing a lube-slicked finger against his arse and he was utterly unable to focus on anything else.

Slowly, almost gently, Malfoy slipped one finger in – and it was tight but not too tight and then he pressed upwards and touched something unbelievable and Harry arched his back and cried out. Malfoy worked his lube-slicked finger in and out of Harry's hole in a way that the Gryffindor couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around. Fuck, but he'd never appreciated anyone's digits so much before.

Far too soon, Malfoy's hand left him and Harry opened his eyes – just in time to see Malfoy add more lube and push a second finger in.

His head fell back onto the mattress, his hands fisted in the sheets and he gave himself over to it completely. The initial stretch hurt a little, but not in a bad way, and then he forgot all about it and _oh_, _oh my god_, he never wanted Malfoy to stop. He tried to focus his attention on the sounds he was making, in case any of them were embarrassing, but couldn't do it. He thought Malfoy might have been saying something as well but it wasn't his sensory power was fixed on the feeling of Malfoy's gorgeous fingers pumping in and out of his slick arse, bestowing teasing touches upon that something just inside that made everything ache in the best way possible.

After a little while, a voice filtered down into Harry's consciousness, and he realised that Malfoy was saying his name, repeating it in a tone that sounded like he couldn't decide whether he was trying to get Harry's attention or just muttering it in the heat of the moment. "Harry." Half wonder, half entreaty. "Harry."

Malfoy's fingers still moving inside him, it took all of Harry's concentration to squeak a single word. "Yes?" It came out a couple of octaves higher than he'd intended it to, but he felt it was quite an achievement, all things considered.

"Say my name," Malfoy said raggedly, and Harry dimly noted – again – that he wasn't the only one breathing hard.

In between gasps, Harry did his best. "M— oh, fuck— Malf— don't stop, please don't stop — Malfoy— ah!"

The blonde had leant up and bitten down on Harry's neck, hard. "My first name." His hand had stilled.

"Draco," Harry said, quite clearly, and the Slytherin leaned over to capture the Gryffindor's mouth with his own. His kisses were hungry, and his pupils were dilated when he pulled away.

Eyes still fixed on Harry, he moved his hand away just long enough to add yet more lubricant to his fingers. "Say it again," he breathed.

Harry felt that it was in his best interests to oblige. "Drac—OH!"

Of course he'd chosen that moment to slide three fingers deep into Harry's arse. He made a shallow thrusting motion and Harry – to his embarrassment – whimpered.

"It's alright, you'll be fine," he heard Malfoy murmur. "You can take it, trust me."

Harry nodded and let his head fall back onto his arms, held taut by the tie, while Malfoy worked at his arse. It didn't take long before he was writhing in pleasure again, all unpleasant stretching sensations forgotten. He should have been embarrassed by the fact that he was opening his legs as wide as they would go, pushing himself onto Malfoy's wonderful fingers, desperate for release, for more, for anything. But he was too lost in it to care. His cock ached to be touched, but he couldn't quite find the words to articulate it.

"Malf— fuck, Draco —" —a groan— "oh fuck— oh, Draco, dracodracodraco—"

Quite suddenly, Malfoy's hand disappeared. Harry's eyes snapped open and he was greeted with the sight of Draco Malfoy kneeling on the bed between his legs, the blonde's neglected cock fiercely erect and dripping with pre-come. Harry's own cock twitched in response.

Malfoy looked almost animal as he moved closer, stroking himself with a glistening, lube-covered hand. Carefully, he positioned the tip of his cock against Harry's aching hole – and pushed in, inch by slow inch, filling and stretching Harry in a way that felt both unpleasant and not at the same time, earning a long, low groan from the Gryffindor.

Malfoy stayed there for a few long moments, long enough to make Harry wonder if something was wrong. He opened his eyes. "What is it?"

Malfoy was motionless, eyes closed, biting his lip with his brow furrowed in concentration. He breathed out shakily and said, "Fuck." He opened his eyes. "You're tight."

Harry felt himself flush a little and muttered, "Well. I said I hadn't done this before."

Malfoy chuckled breathlessly. "Just take the compliment as it was intended, okay?"

Harry had no time to think about that comment because the Slytherin began to move then. Slowly at first, then a little faster, building a rhythm, and Harry's world blurred together. He was awash with sensations. Wet kisses and hot breath, hands sliding over his body, his legs wrapped tightly around Malfoy's back, arms straining against their bonds, his dick, painfully hard, slapping against his belly as Malfoy slid in and out of his arse, and with each thrust a slick, wet sound that should have been disgusting but was only ever the opposite.

Gasping and crying out and gasping over again, Harry found himself begging, all but whimpering in desperation. "Please, fuck, please I'm so close— so close, touch me, please, please—"

"Say it," said Malfoy. He was panting just as hard as Harry, but still managed to fix Harry with a fierce, hungry stare to match the tone of his voice. "Harry, say it," he said again. "Say my name."

Harry didn't hesitate. "Draco." He felt a hand wrap around his prick and the touch was like a jolt of electricity through his whole body. "Draco, please, Draco, Draco—" The hand on his cock was moving and nothing made sense anymore and all he could utter was, "Fuck, please Draco please, _please _Draco— Draco— _Draco!_"

And then Harry was coming and coming, onto his stomach and his chest and Malfoy's hand, and the release was so sweet it almost hurt.

Malfoy's thrusts were becoming less and less practiced and more and more erratic. He looked positively wild as he gritted his perfect teeth, gave one last hard thrust, and came deep in Harry's arse with a grunt and a shudder.

The room was quiet as they caught their breath. After a minute, Malfoy pulled away and reached up to tug at the knots holding Harry's wrists in place. Harry's hands slid over the Slytherin's perfect shoulders and down his chest almost of their own volition. He silently wondered if Malfoy had planned this beforehand, or if he'd simply seen him on the dancefloor and decided on the spot. He reflected that he'd probably never know for sure, since it was hardly likely that the Slytherin would stick around to tell him. The realisation formed a knot in his gut.

The silence stretched. Harry could feel grey eyes on him but couldn't force himself to meet Malfoy's gaze. He wasn't sure what he would find there, and it would be just like Malfoy to make Harry feel as vulnerable as possible before slipping in a snide remark.

But when the remark did come, it wasn't the kind Harry was expecting.

"You should say my name more often," Malfoy said softly, and the expression on his face made it into a question – a question much bigger than those seven words alone. His hands hesitantly curled around Harry's biceps and paused there.

And all of a sudden Harry realised that it didn't have to matter who he was. The fact that he was famous didn't _have_ to matter. Not everyone saw him like that; it all depended on the person.

Harry couldn't help himself. He grinned.

"Okay... Draco," he said, and it occurred to him that it was much nicer than _Malfoy_.

Draco's answering smile was radiant.


End file.
